


Out of My Natural Shape

by printers_devil



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Boundary Pushing, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, FE3H Wank Week, First Time, Lingerie, Masturbation, Nipple Clamps, Objectification, Panty Sniffing, Praise Kink, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sex Toys, sexy bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25498153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/printers_devil/pseuds/printers_devil
Summary: "Do you like me like you like Leonie and Claude?""Even more," Marianne breathed. There was no point in dissembling. "I—I, um, I wish I was more like you, Hilda.""Aww, you're sweet," said Hilda. Her finger ran down the front of Marianne's neck, then further down, to run over the lace she'd so admired. Marianne's whole body was throbbing from just that one touch. "Keep being sweet for me, okay? Lay down."Hilda gets Marianne a gift. Hilda wants to see that gift put to good use.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47
Collections: Horny Void, Wank Week 2020





	Out of My Natural Shape

**Author's Note:**

> Or, the one where Hilda buys Marianne cute underwear so she can watch Marianne masturbate in it. Written for FE3H Wank Week, Day 4: Exhibitionism/Toys.
> 
> This is not the first time I've written Marianne feeling guilty while masturbating, and it will not be the last!!! There's some Marianne-->Leonie and Marianne-->Claude in this, as well as a bit of Marianne-->someone totally unlikely, but it's mostly as dirty talk.

In Marianne's imaginings on the way to the Officer's Academy, the town of Garreg Mach was a humble farming village that toiled to supply the monastery with its cheeses and its vegetables. In truth, it was a bustling trade town situated at the middle point of three nations, with an open-air market that attracted merchants from as far away as Sreng. The shops on its high street to tempted wealthy visitors, and parted students and clergy alike from their money. Father had dismissed it as nothing compared to beautiful Derdriu, the jewel of all Fódlan, but it was a little wonder on its own merits. 

Today was a free day. Hilda had found her in the stables, told her in no uncertain terms that they _were_ going to town, and told Marianne to wash up and look cute. 

When Marianne had protested that she wasn't to leave the Monastery except for training maneuvers and the professor's special missions, Hilda had laughed and said, "Margrave Edmund sent you here to make friends with powerful people or something, right? Well, my brother is powerful people, so the Margrave can take it up with Holst if he's mad." 

In town, there were a lot of people and a lot of noises. Hilda took Marianne's hand and held it the whole way without Marianne even asking, chattering all the while. She'd just gotten a letter from Holst, who was nagging her about keeping up her lance training even though she was better with the axe. She was working on a new pairing of earrings. The professor was making her go through black magic practice, even though Hilda wasn't good at it at all. 

That last part really wasn't true. Hilda was quite good at magic: she wasn't very precise, but she had both power and range. Marianne yearned to be the one comforting Hilda, just once. 

Gradually, after stopping at all of the jewelry stalls and buying every third piece she laid her eye on, Hilda led them down a side street and into a shop with a bright red facade and a big golden knob on the door.

Marianne balked, and Hilda tugged her in anyway. It sold fine dresses, of the type a wealthy merchant might wear, or a noble of modest means. Her adoptive father had never taken her to one; the dressmaker came once a year to the estate to take Marianne's measurements, and a collection of plain dresses showed up two weeks later. They all fit perfectly, and they drew no attention to her at all. 

Everything here was very beautiful. Hilda took her time, walking the circumference of the room, examining all of the ready-made dresses in their turn, turning her clever eye on the bolts of fabric hanging along the walls. 

"It's nice of you to bring me here, but I couldn't spend my money on any of this," Marianne said, taking in the hats. "It's too expensive, my uniforms are just fine...."

Hilda looked up from her deep scrutiny of two near-identical lengths of white linen. "First of all, I know exactly how much pin money you get from the Margrave, and you could buy this whole shop." 

That was true, but before Marianne could question how she knew that, Hilda went on, "And besides, we're not here to get dresses. Nobody _really_ comes here for that. Hey! We're here for the back room."

This last was directed at a very pretty woman behind the counter, who hopped from her stool to fawn over the Lady Hilda. Who was Lady Hilda's beautiful friend, and would they like to see the new cottons from Almyra? The shipment of Dagdan silk? Then she ushered the two of them into the aforementioned back room.

It was magical. The front of the shop could very well have been a tack shop if it had offered different wares, but back here, it was decorated like a lady's budoir—soft, plush chaises, little tables covered in white cloth, a silver tea service on the sideboard. It smelled gentle, like powder and roses. 

Hilda smelled like this, Marianne thought—not _exactly_ like this, but sweet and comfortable, enticing. Just a wisp of scent that made Marianne want to come closer nonetheless. She didn't deserve Hilda's friendship, and Hilda was just doing this for the same reason people like Lorenz or Claude were kind to her: to strengthen ties between their houses.

More to the point, the back room was full of ladies' underthings on dressforms. "Mostly they make to order, but they've got a few things to try on so you can get an idea," Hilda said, running her hand gently over the curve of one of the dressforms' busts. It was wearing some very modern, very bright red undergarments. The garters did not seem practical at all. 

"The stitching on everything they make is so fine," Hilda went on. She beckoned Marianne over to examine at the undergarments in question. "The lace is so soft, and it looks sturdy but also delicate? They make their own lace, and they use magic to get it that way, and to make all their stuff so much faster than a shop that sews by hand could do it! I want to learn their techniques, but _Holst_ says that I have to finish at the Academy before I run around Fódlan doing apprenticeships." 

"I'll tell the seamstresses you think so highly of them," said the shopgirl, beaming. 

Marianne had never seen Hilda so excited about anything but being put on the backline for a battle. Just touching these scraps of clothing, she looked radiant. If the Goddess had truly blessed Marianne today, Hilda would try some of it on and ask Marianne's opinion. 

"Let's see what we're working with, come on," Hilda said, gesturing at Marianne's uniform jacket. 

"Oh!" Marianne said, her hand going to the stiff gold braid on her collar. Surely, Hilda couldn't mean—"This is for me? I can't wear these things...." 

"Uh, you can? It's just clothes, no one will even see them," Hilda said.

When Hilda took that tone, there was no arguing with her. 

Mechanically, Marianne undid the buttons of her jacket and set it on the beautiful chaise, until she was wearing just the white shirt and her skirt. She froze up when Hilda stared at her, then unbuttoned her shirt and discarded it, too. It was just Hilda, after all. They'd shared the bathhouse and the sauna a dozen times. 

Hilda sighed heavily at the sight of Marianne's undergarments. "What _are_ these, short stays? Those can't be comfortable at all, take them off. This isn't Faerghus, you know, we have actual modistes in the Alliance. You're so skinny and your posture is so perfect, you don't need to keep yourself laced up like this." 

As her nimble fingers stripped Marianne of her stays, Hilda kept talking, lecturing about how to dress well, and she had Marianne stripped to the waist before she could protest. The shopgirl didn't so much as bat an eyelash, so this must have been the sort of thing one did in a shop like this. 

Marianne covered her chest with her hands, but Hilda peeled them away to stare at her breasts. "I knew you were hiding something from me," said Hilda. She poked Marianne hard in the sternum. "Are these the curse you keep talking about? They're so cute, I can't believe you're not wearing a uniform like mine and Leonie's." 

Leonie hadn't been able to afford more than one uniform, Marianne knew, and Hilda was so generous that she'd not only given Leonie her extras, but altered them for her, too. They both had such beautiful thighs, but Marianne's legs were like dry sticks, no matter how much riding or lance practice she did. It was better if they were covered. She tried not to think about her body at all, except to wonder at what Father would do with it when she died. 

"I want samples in blue, green, and black," Hilda said, snapping her fingers. The shopgirl curtsied, vanished into the back, and brought out long boxes wrapped in pretty ribbons.

Hilda turned to Marianne. "Take off your skirt and tights, too." 

Under Hilda's appraising gaze and the shopgirl's indifferent one, Marianne stripped. She did her best not to bend over. Hilda pulled some underthings from one of the boxes, then helped Marianne into them, her hands brushing accidentally over all kinds of places no one but House Edmund's maids had ever touched before. It was exhilarating, having Hilda so close, closer than they'd ever been, even when Marianne tended Hilda's wounds. 

The first set Hilda had chosen for her was pale green and lacy, with straps that crossed over her chest and seemed mostly decorative. It held her breasts up quite a lot higher than her stays did, and it made her waist look very narrow. Unlike Hilda, she did not have much in the way of a shape. 

"Oh, that's perfect," Hilda said, puffing out a breath at the sight of her. "Got it in one, Hilda." She turned to the shopgirl. "I'll take the sample. Can you have that made for her in black, too? Actually, no, I want it in Morfis blue, to set off her hair. Do you think that's a little on the nose, though?"

Red and crimson were set aside as too harsh for her skin; yellow and black would make her look sallow, orange was out of the question. Pink, they concluded, would be trite. At no point did they consult Marianne. She stood there, as useless as always, feeling exposed in these scanty underthings. If Hilda noticed Marianne's trembling shoulders—and why would she?—she wasn't interested in them.

The shopgirl brought out a book of fabric and lace samples to debate the merits of various purples, and Hilda held them up against Marianne's stomach, her breasts, her face, the back of her hand sending It was right that Hilda should take charge of this, of course. When Hilda told her what to do, came out perfectly.

Hilda turned Marianne around in the mirror just once, to examine her from all angles, Hilda stroking her chin like Ignatz did when he was trying to pick a color for his brush. Marianne shivered under her gaze. She was warm all over, and not because of the candles on the wall.

Then Hilda asked the shopgirl for a seamstress tape with which to take Marianne's measurements, and she lifted Marianne's arms, made Marianne close her legs with quick touches to her thighs, called out the numbers for the shopgirl to take down.

Being handled so casually, being watched by two sets of eyes with indifference, set up a hard throbbing between Marianne's legs. It was dizzying. She was going to get wet, and then she'd ruin these nice new clothes. The shopgirl would be disgusted with her and send her a bill for damaged goods, which she would then have to send along to her adoptive father, who would demand an explanation. And, even worse, Hilda would roll her eyes and never take her out shopping again, and snub her in classes, and not want to protect her protect her on the battlefield, and Marianne would have to find someone else to hide behind, and they wouldn't be half as good as Hilda and her axe.

"Yeah, it's gotta be lavender," Hilda concluded, snapping the book shut loudly. "I know you have other clients, but I'll pay extra for the rush job." 

"Of course, Lady Hilda," said the shopgirl. "The green, however...." 

"Oh, this fits fine, it's good enough for me." Hilda pulled at one of the straps that crossed Marianne's chest and let it go. It stung, and Marianne flinched. Far from shaking her from her horrid thoughts, the pain made her arousal even worse, and she shifted her weight from foot to foot.

The shopgirl's pleasant demeanor cracked to reveal a wide, nasty smirk, which went away as quickly as it appeared. Marianne deserved it. She could very well be any girl Hilda had decided to take pity on, after all. At no point had Hilda said the words _von Edmund_. 

"Also, do you have that special order?" Hilda asked. 

The woman disappeared for a moment into yet another back room, presumably where the seamstresses worked, and came back with a long, slim, velvet-covered black box. Hilda opened it and hummed her satisfaction, but the angle was such that that Marianne could not see what was inside. "Great, send the bill to the usual steward," said Hilda. "Marianne, we're leaving." 

"Wait," Marianne said. "Wait. I... I can't let you pay for this." She pulled the brassiere off, as well as the panties, and handed them to Hilda. She covered her bosom with her forearm. 

Hilda packed the brassiere away neatly. "So, okay, you're rich, right? I'm way richer. When was the last time you got spoiled, huh? Never?" Then she shook out the panties to fold, but not before pressing them briefly to her nose to sniff at them, so briefly Marianne thought she might have imagined it. 

The mischievous little smile on Hilda's face, however, put paid to that thought. Marianne spent the walk back to the monastery clutching the box tight to her chest, praying Hilda would not bring it up, and, fortunately, Hilda did not. 

*

The box stayed under Marianne's bed for the next two days. She and Hilda didn't have many classes together, but for the ones they took with Professor Byleth, and it was only on the third day that their paths would cross for any length of time, over lunch. On that day, she finally felt bold enough to take the underthings out and look at them. She picked up the brassiere and could still feel Hilda's hands on her, turning her side to side, examining her, looping the seamstress's tape around her hips and pulling it tight. 

Hilda was a kind person, and that was all. Marianne shut her eyes against the memories, and her hand drifted downward to rest below her lower stomach. She didn't dare touch herself any lower. The Book of Seiros said that the Goddess would never deny love or joy to anyone, but the Goddess had nothing to do with the monster in Marianne's blood, she was sure of it. It probably wouldn't be any good if she tried, anyway. 

The dining hall had run out of salads before Marianne arrived, and lunch that day was a heavy stew that sat like a rock in Marianne's stomach. Hilda sat with Marianne; Leonie and Lorenz sat with Hilda, along with a half-dozen other boys, and Claude, too. Marianne let their conversation flow past her. Every once in a while, Leonie or Claude asked her for her opinion on something and seemed annoyed when Marianne demurred, but for the most part they ignored her. If only they'd all leave her be, so she could be alone with Hilda. 

Eventually, they did. Hilda dallied until the last moments of lunch, which was going to make Marianne late for white magic practice. 

"Are you wearing what I got you?" Hilda whispered. Her eyes were shining and eager. 

"Oh, um... yes," Marianne said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. 

Hilda leaned in closer. "How does it feel?" 

Marianne turned the question over in her mind. "Comfortable," she concluded. "Better than my stays. My... you know. They're up higher? So my uniform jacket fits me better." 

"We have _got_ to see about getting you a different uniform, that one is so frumpy. Come to my room after your afternoon practice, I want to see."

The underthings were bought and paid for, which meant Hilda had every right to see them. If Marianne wanted Hilda to look at her again the way she'd looked at her in the shop, well, her wishes didn't signify at all. Marianne murmured her assent and left as quickly as possible.

When she finally made it to practice, Professor Manuela paired her up with Lady Edelgard's tall, frightening manservant. This was a punishment; no one wanted to work with him, because he was terrible at white magic. No one ever wanted to work with Marianne, either, but Lysithea usually paired her anyway. 

Marianne might have known his name once, but she was too embarrassed to ask him now. She might have shrunk from his piercing gaze, too, but with these underthings on she could pretend to have a sliver of Hilda's confidence. She managed to look up and meet his eyes more than once, and with her coaching, he managed to scorch a patch of earth next to a training dummy. 

"Your skill is impressive, and you're very knowledgable," he said, after she shattered four dummies to splinters with one cast. "Why, I don't know that I've ever heard your voice. May I call upon you for assistance before the quarterly exams?" 

Marianne looked over her shoulder to make sure he wasn't speaking to someone else. But Linhardt was—mercifully—sleeping under a tree, Lysithea had skipped practice, and Mercedes von Martritz, who'd graduated the School of Sorcery already, wasn't anywhere near them either.

"I don't know." Marianne thrust her hands into her skirt's pockets to keep herself from wringing them. "I... I suppose? I probably won't be much help, but I can try." 

"I cannot fail Lady Edelgard by doing anything less than my best," he said fervently. 

"Right," Marianne replied, and went back to reviewing the basic forms with him. 

He really was hopeless. How kind of Lady Edelgard and Prince Dimitri to pay for commoners to go through the officer's academy with them. Perhaps she and Hilda could do something about Leonie's debt? Father had told her to keep an eye out for talented commoners, and Leonie was certainly gifted. She could tell Father it was an investment. 

She went back to Hilda's room afterward to find Hilda actually doing homework for once—her own homework, not copying out someone's notes.

"Oh, hey," Hilda said, glancing up from her work. "How was practice?" 

Marianne sat down on Hilda's bed and told her about the useless Black Eagle. 

" _Hubie_ asked you to tutor him?" Hilda snorted. 

"Hubie?" Marianne repeated, feeling silly. What an awful name.

"Hubert von Vestra? Heir to House Vestra? Tall, dark, and creepy? Needs a haircut and a tailor?" 

"Oh, him. I, um, didn't realize he was a noble... I thought he was Lady Edelgard's manservant," Marianne said, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth to hide her giggle. 

"Ooh, that's a laugh. Did you think he was handsome?" Hilda asked, throwing her arm around Marianne's shoulder. "Do you like the mysterious type?" 

"N-No," she replied. She had found Hubert a bit handsome—he was certainly tall—but most likely, Hubert would forget he'd even asked her. There were better mages. Maybe he'd go to Mercedes instead after all. 

Hilda's arm moved downward, snaking around Marianne's waist, pulling her close. "What _do_ you like, then?" Hilda asked. 

"I like... kind people," Marianne said. "People who are brave and clever." 

"Like?" Hilda had a gleam in her eyes that said she was going to press until Marianne answered her. When she became like this, it was easier to just give in. 

"Leonie sits very well on a horse, and she's not afraid of anything, she's so determined... Claude is—he's very good-looking, and he's smart. Ferdinand? I don't think he's very clever, but I think he's trying to be kind when he speaks to me. And he's very conscientious in the stable." 

"That's cute," Hilda said. "You're so cute, did you know that?" 

Marianne cast her gaze aside. She wished Hilda would stop saying such things to her when she didn't mean them. Before Marianne could say so, however, Hilda pulled her into a tight embrace. Her bosom was so soft; her arms were so strong. Marianne's breath hitched. She did not know how to hold herself, and sat there stiffly as Hilda ran a slow hand up her back. 

"I told you I wanted to see what I bought you," Hilda said into Marianne's ear. "Show me." 

Marianne stood. She set her jacket aside neatly on the sideboard, and unbuttoned her shirt, just enough to show Hilda the green brassiere. She was still only playacting that she had a little bit of Hilda's confidence. What would it be like, to be _really_ brave—she let her shirt slide off her shoulders and fall to the floor in an untidy heap, exposing her whole upper body to Hilda's hungry gaze. 

"Keep going, it's not like I haven't seen the rest of it," Hilda said. 

"Right," Marianne said. This was different. There was no shopgirl here to draw conclusions, no chaises or tea services, just the two of them in a cluttered old dorm room. She had Hilda all to herself. When she was naked but for the brassiere and the panties, Hilda leaned forward and hooked her finger underneath Marianne's chin, drawing her forward so Marianne had to stumble down on the bed and kneel between her legs.

"Do you like me?" Hilda ran that finger down the side of Marianne's neck, one of her perfect nails digging lightly into Marianne's skin. It tickled awfully, and Marianne hunched her shoulder, trying to get away from the touch. Hilda didn't stop. "Do you like me like you like Leonie and Claude?"

"Even more," Marianne breathed. There was no point in dissembling. "I—I, um, I wish I was more like you, Hilda."

"Aww, you're sweet," said Hilda. Her finger ran down the front of Marianne's neck, then further down, to run over the lace she'd so admired. Marianne's whole body was throbbing from just that one touch. "Keep being sweet for me, okay? Lay down."

Marianne said, "Okay," and got down on her back on Hilda's narrow bed, looking up at the ceiling. Hilda took naps all the time, but this was a terrible time for one. She was never going to get to sleep like this, not with her pulse thrumming in her throat. 

Hilda settled in next to her, leaning on her side. With one hand, she pulled first one cup of the brassiere down, then the other, so that Marianne's breasts were free. The lace bunched up beneath them was tight and close, and it shoved Marianne's breasts up taut, out of their natural shape. 

She looked like the kinds of vulgar pictures that her fellow students traded, she was sure of it—Lysithea, trying to be shocking and bold, had gotten her hands on some and shown Marianne. Right now, at least, she was _Hilda's_ vulgar picture. 

"Yup, still cute," Hilda said. "You're never hiding these again. Want to do something else for me?"

"Anything," Marianne replied, a little too hastily.

Hilda's eyebrows rose in surprise, and then she grinned. "Okay, touch your boobs for me, will you?" Hilda put a hand on her own breast and ran it up, then down again. It was mesmerizing. "It's a shame for these to go to waste."

Of course. Hilda could have anyone at this monastery touching her breasts, but she'd picked Marianne, and Marianne would do her best—which wouldn't be very good, but she'd learn, for Hilda. 

She reached out, and her fingers only barely grazed the fabric of Hilda's blouse before Hilda stopped her. "Not me, silly. You. Touch yourself. I wanna see."

"Oh... okay." Marianne frowned and set her hand down on her own chest. Her hands were like blocks of wood as she tried to mimic what Hilda had done, drawing the flat of her palm up and down over her breast. She was starting to develop little calluses from her lancework, and when they passed over her nipple they felt quite nice. She did that again, and again, and it was blissful. 

"Both hands, now," Hilda said. "You know, I thought you'd have cute little pink nipples?"

"Sorry," Marianne said. 

"No, no, I like these too, but you're so pale... it was just surprising!" Hilda said. She wasn't looking at Marianne's face. Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip, watching Marianne's hands move. That only made it feel better. "You think you know someone," she added.

 _You don't know me at all,_ Marianne thought, and pinched her own nipple, just as a little punishment for thinking she could be a person someone like Hilda might like. It didn't work. It sent a hot spark shooting directly down between her legs. "Oh," she said, gaping down at her chest. "I didn't know it could do that."

"Wow, I bet you're super wet right now," Hilda said. "Keep playing, you're doing so good—no, don't stop, I'll tell you when you can stop."

Hilda would tell her when to stop. Hilda probably had calluses in different places; Hilda would know exactly where to touch her. Marianne stared up into her eyes, trying to imagine what it might be like to have Hilda's hands on her. Maybe she'd be rough? Marianne pinched both of her nipples, tugging them outward hard and releasing them, to see what it might be like. More sparks, bigger ones, and she drew a breath in hard. It hurt, but she craved more of it, and whimpered as she pulled at herself. 

"Who, getting carried away, huh?" Hilda said. "I wonder if you could... nah. Take your panties off and give them to me." 

Marianne rushed to comply and passed them to Hilda, who took a deep sniff. "Ah, that's nice," she said, and Marianne's face flushed hot and red. There was nothing _nice_ about that scent. "As much as I like watching you lose your mind like this, enough playing with your boobs, let's get to the real fun stuff. Tell me how wet you are."

"I'm... wet," Marianne said, pulling her hand away from herself and setting it flat on her stomach. "Hilda...."

"I'm here for you, don't worry," Hilda said, patting her shoulder. "Come on, we sat through the same class with Professor Manuela. I know you know what's going on down there! Rub your clit. Make yourself feel good, Marianne, I want to see it." 

Hilda took Marianne's wrist between two fingers as though it it was a dirty rag, and set Marianne's hand back between her legs. Her gaze was expectant. Marianne swallowed hard, then put a single finger on her clit. She'd done this before, but always laying on her belly with a pillow between her legs, and only occasionally, when she'd needed gratification more than she wanted to suffer. 

Cautiously, lest she make a wrong move and annoy Hilda, she rubbed her finger in a slow circle. It didn't feel like much. She was dry there, so she dipped her fingers down into her cleft to gather more wetness on her finger—that made it easier, and she shifted from side to side as a little wave of pleasure passed through her, then another. 

"Do you even think about sex?" Hilda said. "Do you ever think about, I don't know, what Claude's dick looks like? Or eating Leonie out?"

In one of Lysithea's vulgar pictures, a man had been doing just that to a woman. Marianne had sounded exactly like her adoptive father when she'd told Lysithea sharply to put it away but she'd thought about the image for hours afterward. She thought about it now, too, as she touched herself: Hilda and Leonie both laid out in front of her, ordering her around, telling her she was doing a good job. It was shameful, but nothing about this wasn't shameful, she thought. Her legs were so weak, they felt like water. How smart of Hilda to have her lay on her back. 

Marianne kept going like that until her wrist ached, and every one of her senses felt raw. She knew what an orgasm _was,_ but she really was as clumsy as Hilda always said she was if she could not get there on her own. She paused, drawing her knees up, but Hilda shoved the leg nearest her flat on the bed.

"Hilda, I can't," Marianne whined, squirming. She couldn't keep making herself feel good for no reason, not even for Hilda's enjoyment. "I _can't_." 

With a sigh, Hilda levered herself up off of the bed. Marianne immediately wanted her back. "You can, Marianne," she said. "You've just got to put the effort in. If you need a little help...."

"Please!" Marianne said. Her own vehemence surprised her. 

Hilda went to her sideboard, then came back with an object in her hand. It was long and slender, and smooth, too, with a blunted end. She pressed it into Marianne's hand with a strange smile.

"It's clean, fuck yourself with it," Hilda said. "Take all the time you need."

Marianne stared blankly down at it. She knew a phallus was, and how it was used, and all of the crude words used to describe them; they had also featured in Professor Manuela's lesson. _Better that you all be informed,_ Professor Manuela said, _than to have your parents writing stern letters to the Academy._ Real penises were bigger than this thing; she'd seen some in the sauna. It still looked daunting. "Um, I've never...."

"Put it inside of you." Hilda sounded cheerful and patient, but it was the kind of patient people sounded when they were actually very annoyed with her. "Just _try_ , you'll find your pussy eventually." 

Marianne drew it up and down between her folds. The stone was cool against her heat, and when it passed over her clitoris, it was very different from touching it with her fingers. She rubbed it back and forth, painfully aware of Hilda's eyes on her. Hilda had told her to put it inside. Hilda had gotten her these lovely things, _and_ she was letting her use this phallus, Marianne owed her the effort. 

With that, Marianne found her entrance. She pushed the tip in, and it hurt. She took a deep breath, thinking about Leonie's eyes on her, Leonie pushing this into her—Leonie was so kind and friendly. Leonie would encourage her as she did this difficult thing. 

Marianne shut her eyes, pulling the phallus shallowly in and out. Leonie would be enthusiastic, too, and shove the whole thing in, and give no quarter. With her free hand, Marianne toyed with her clit as she had before, and that was much better. She went a little deeper, and deeper still after that, in one hard push, until it was as far as she could get it inside her. 

"Wow," Hilda said. 

"I'm sorry." Marianne came back to herself, and covered her face with the hand she'd been using on her clit. To think about someone other than 

"No, you're just—never mind. Keep going." 

That could not have meant anything good. Marianne threw herself into not letting Hilda down, drawing the phallus in and out of herself. She was wetter now, and it was more comfortable, the friction having resolved into a pleasant ache. Something was building at the edge of her senses, and she just had to reach for it. 

"Hey, your new study buddy is just two rooms down, you know," Hilda said, shifting closer to Marianne to speak, "and Leonie's right downstairs. What do you think they'd say if they saw you like this, huh? How would you feel?" 

Foolishly, Marianne lost her grip on the phallus had to readjust herself. Hubert von Vestra's cool, assessing gaze, the way he'd watched her destroy those training dummies... Leonie, excited, cheering her on the whole way. It was okay to think of them like this, with Hilda. She didn't know how she was going to look Hubert in the eye after this, if he remembered he'd asked for her help. As she gave herself up to her imaginings, and Hilda muttered encouragements in her ear, everything began to feel loose and relaxed, as though a knot inside her she hadn't even known was tied was being picked apart. 

And still, her completion was out of her reach. Every time she made a frustrated noise, Hilda got excited, so she allowed herself to moan freely, to call out to the Goddess

"I know just what I need to make this perfect. See, I got something else for you," Hilda said conspiratorially. She hopped off the bed again, and went to one of her desk drawers to pull out the black velvet box she'd gotten in the shop. "Now, you look great, but you can't have a cute outfit without accessories! Now, I _meant_ to save these for some other time, but I just can't help it." She paused, her gaze raking Marianne over. "It's because you're being so good for me, you know."

Marianne nodded blankly, still working herself with the phallus. It wasn't enough, suddenly. She was so greedy, and she wanted to feel fuller, stretched around something. She kept at it, whimpering with dissatisfaction, her back arching off the bed. Perhaps Hilda had a bigger one she could give her. 

From the box, Hilda pulled a silver chain with a pair of curious objects attached to each end. "I thought about gold, but it's not really your color."

They were clamps. They were very pretty, with tiny pearls dotted all over them.. Hilda sat back against the headboard and attached them to Marianne's nipples; the pain was piercing for the first few moments, and Marianne whimpered and stilled herself as best she could. It dulled to a persistent ache. Then she moved, and her breasts did too, and the chain went taut between them and it hurt all over again. 

" _Now_ you're perfect," Hilda said, breathless. She had her own hand down her underwear, and moved it slowly as she watched Marianne. "I want to see you come like that. Can you do that for me?" 

For Hilda, anything. The end came upon her all at once: she felt good, then she felt amazing, better than she'd ever felt before. She went tight around the phallus, barely biting back her high-pitched wail—and then, all of a sudden, it was too much and she had to stop. Then the room was quiet, but for the sound of Hilda's heavy breathing as she, too, brought herself to orgasm. 

_Marianne_ had done that to her. Marianne had aroused Hilda so much that Hilda had masturbated to her. An unfamiliar feeling welled up in her breast, and after some consideration, she decided it was satisfaction. Pride at a job well done. 

In the quiet, however, a small voice in her heart cried out that this was undignified conduct, unbefitting of a daughter— _the_ daughter—of House Edmund. She had not been raised to perform like some trained horse at market. 

For once in her life, Marianne managed to ignore it. If Hilda figured out that Marianne was nothing but bad luck, a wretched beast, who bore a Crest so reviled Father didn't dare dangle it in front of nobles to entice them into marrying the useless girl he'd adopted... it didn't bear thinking about, not now. She'd have plenty of time to stew on it later. 

"Why this?" Marianne asked, because she had never been able to resist picking at a scab.

"Why not?" Hilda replied, shrugging. "I thought you'd get scared out when I got out the dildo, but you kept going. You obviously didn't hate it." 

She bent over Marianne and removed the clamps, very gently. It hurt almost as much as having them on, and Marianne winced. Hilda laughed, and stroked some sweaty hair back from Marianne's forehead. 

"I didn't—um, I didn't hate it, that is." Marianne sat up. The insides of her thighs were wet and uncomfortable, but at least she had not left a damp spot on Hilda's beautiful sheets. She ached after Hilda's hand, but Hilda didn't touch her again. That was fine. She had gotten more than she deserved already. "You help me so much, Hilda. This was really nice." 

"Great! Then we can keep on helping each other," Hilda said. "But"—she sighed—"I'm just going to be _so_ tired after stable duty tomorrow...."

"I'll take it for you," Marianne hastened to say. 

Anything, to do this again. If she performed well enough, perhaps Hilda would touch her, kiss her, put her face between Marianne's legs like in the pictures. The curse in her blood assured that she would not ever be worthy of it, but for Hilda, who was so gracious with her, so giving, so thoughtful—she could at least try. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on twitter at [@a_printersdevil](https://twitter.com/a_printersdevil)!


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